


Whenever I Think About You

by aotearoagal



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M, None - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:21:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aotearoagal/pseuds/aotearoagal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim finally has a chance to think, and figures a few things out for<br/>himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whenever I Think About You

## Whenever I Think About You

by a_gal

Author's website:  <http://www.geocities.com/aotearoagal>

Isn't mine. Never did, never took, never stole. Wasn't me.

I'd like to thank my flatmate for making me write this, plus my   
betas. You guys rock.

'Tis set Post TST:P2

* * *

It hadn't taken Jim long to get ready for bed; a quick brush of his teeth, and swapping his work clothes for a pair of boxers was pretty much the entire routine. Now here he lay, legs out straight, arms by his sides, covers pulled up to his waist, ready to sleep. Plumping the pillows higher under his head he made himself more comfortable. And, as he usually did each night, he thought about his friend. The same friend currently climbing into his own bed downstairs. 

To others it might have seemed odd that he spent so much time thinking about Blair, but not to Jim. After all, they _were_ roommates, and they spent an obscene amount of time together, at work and not. That such thoughts occurred to Jim while he was in bed was also only natural, as it was the only bit of peace he could claim for himself most days. And who else would he think about? There was Sarah McGee down in booking, and Aggie Mahoney in Traffic, but Jim couldn't see himself asking either lady on a date. Nor could he see either lady having as much impact on his life as Blair'd had these past few years. 

Anyway, Blair was much more than just Jim's friend. Blair was also his partner, his confidant -- well, whenever Blair was being particularly tenacious and dragged those dreaded _feelings_ out of him -- and occasionally even Jim's moral compass. Added to all that, Blair was Jim's staunchest supporter. If Blair had been a woman Jim would probably have up and married him by now. While on the surface Blair may have had less in common with Jim than Carolyn had, Jim could see it working with Blair in a way that it never could have with Carolyn. At the time Jim had needed someone, and needed desperately, but he could see that Carolyn wasn't "the one" that all those romance novels spouted about. Jim doubted there was a "one" for him, though, he supposed, there was still time. He wasn't entirely over the hill _quite_ yet. No matter what jokes H. and Rafe told in the break room when they thought he couldn't hear. 

It had hit him earlier that evening, when they'd been sitting on the couch. With Blair taking command of the remote, they had ended up watching the Discovery Channel. It was some documentary about the natives in Borneo, and Jim had remembered. Remembered that expedition Blair had been invited on, how pleased he'd been to have been asked, his excitement. And the fact that he'd turned it down to stay with Jim. Jim's thoughts had snowballed from there, and he'd thought about how many other things Blair had given up for him: the expedition, his spare time, what Jim suspected was many a hot date. The sacrifices were piling up, thick and fast. How much more could Blair be expected to take before he cut his losses? And how much more would Blair be forced to give up for Jim in the future? 

It was a selfish thought -- "for Jim" -- but that's what it boiled down to. Blair certainly didn't need to be acting as bait for homicidal maniacs in order to write his dissertation. _That_ was for Jim. And he felt damned guilty about it. There was so much more Blair could be doing, discovering. Jim's life was boring compared with what Blair's life _could_ be. But every time Jim thought, "This is it, this is the moment Blair'll throw up his hands in disgust and walk away," he was proven wrong. But would Blair really stay with Jim forever? Did Jim even want him to? Sure, he had a better handle on his senses, but that didn't necessarily mean he could -- or would -- handle things alone. Besides, even Jim knew there was more to being a Guide than training, it was something innately _Blair_ that made them work so well together. 

Blair was such a free spirit -- though nowhere near as flighty as Naomi -- that this kind of life couldn't hold him for long. Sure there was excitement -- far too much at times -- and every day was different, but it wasn't Blair's life. It was always "Jim's partner", "Jim's roommate". So selfish. So wrong. Was anything ever about Blair? Three years had passed already. Three years of Blair living Jim's life along with him. That couldn't -- wouldn't -- last. Which meant that one day Jim would come home and Blair would be gone. Of course, he'd say goodbye, Blair had those manners down pat. But eventually he'd leave. how much longer would Jim have his partner, his Guide by his side? What was the limit? Four years? Five? Ten? Sooner or later, Blair was going to want a life of his own, instead of an eternal existence as a footnote in Jim's. He couldn't ask Blair to give up his own dreams for the future, ask him to devote the rest of his life to helping Jim out. But he desperately wanted to, wanted that reassurance that Blair would be there. Would stay. Always. 

It wasn't just the life style. Jim knew that he, too, could be difficult sometimes -- okay, _most_ of the time -- but Blair withstood, calling him on it whenever Jim was at his most overbearing, putting up with Jim's brusqueness, his mood swings, his addiction to "heart attack" food. And through it all Blair stayed. Time and time again he had surprised Jim by doing just that. _Staying_. Pure and simple. 

So, yeah, he and Blair were friends, buddies, amigos, _compadres_ , but there was so much more to their relationship than that. Even Jim, at his most obtuse, could see that, clear as day. They were _more_. More than friends. More than roommates. Just _more_. How many friends put their lives on the line for each other, day after day? Jim didn't believe there were as many as the folks in Hollywood would like people to think. He supposed cowardice just didn't sell. And yet, Blair did just that. Day after day of risking his life, a life Blair had probably expected to spend at archaeological sites all over South America, or curled up with a book older than himself in a dusty library somewhere, all for Jim. 

And Jim let him, even if the little shit couldn't learn to stay in the fucking car. Blair naming Jim as his "blessed protector" stuck out in Jim's mind, following another incident that Blair should never have been caught up in. But that was just one instance, while there were so many more where Blair had saved Jim. If either of them owed the other his life, it was Jim. 

And, in typical Ellison fashion, Jim had repaid Blair for his loyalty, his tenacity, his friendship, by throwing him out of the loft, pushing him out and away. Sometimes Jim felt as if he had no control over his reactions, that they were, in fact, in control of him. A sobering thought, and, were Jim to tell him, one which Blair would have some choice words to say about. So Jim wouldn't mention it. Ever. Besides, even Jim could see that wasn't _entirely_ true. Jim craved order and became frustrated -- as well as downright shitty when it was denied him -- no secret to those who knew him, and a few people who didn't. And that craving, that _need_ was part of the problem. Or maybe the entire problem. Would things be easier if Jim could just learn to let go? Just kick back, relax or, as Blair would say, _chill_? 

How the fuck did other people manage to deal with these damned feelings things? *Did *they manage? Or was Jim just imagining he was the only one out of whack with himself? Was the whole world walking around in a state of potential freak out? 

Jim guessed he could always blame it all on the senses but they weren't really at fault. He could also blame it on his mother walking out when he was just a kid, his father being a cold bastard, the Peru experience, or the price of tea in China, but when it came right down to it, Jim was in control. He was an adult now. Shit, he was pushing forty. But knowing that didn't help him act like one most of the time. Carolyn had laid into him more than a few times for acting like a big baby and Blair? Well, Blair had perfected his reproachful look some time in those first six months. 

Yanking his pillows further under his head, Jim reflected on how the people he cared about seemed to leave him eventually, starting with his mother, Tommy, Incacha, Lila and the rest. But not Simon -- and Blair, of course -- although, Simon had never had to live with Jim. Maybe that was the trick? Blair seemed to be handling it, though. Maybe Blair had an anti-asshole filter, or something? God, now Jim was sounding more like Sandburg than Sandburg himself had been lately. And wasn't there something seriously wrong with that? 

Jim knew he was set in his ways, and if he liked things done just so, then surely that was his prerogative? But he'd been alone for so long that living like that had become second nature. Even when Jim had married Carolyn and moved her into his life, he'd still been alone. The two of them never should have gotten married, he could see that now. They hadn't really known each other. She'd never met the real Jim Ellison, only the pretend-Jim that he trotted out in mixed company. 

At the time neither of them had been ready to really share themselves, especially not Jim. And so, he'd pushed, and she'd pushed, and then she was gone. Jim couldn't really blame her for leaving, he only wished they'd recognised their incompatibility _before_ the "I dos". But Carolyn had left, mainly because Jim was an asshole; a closed off, repressed, _anal_ asshole. An anal asshole? Blair'd like that one, and Jim had to force down a loud snort at the thought. 

But none of that explained why Jim always reacted so strongly. Why he always got angry first. Why it was always his gut feeling when things got to be too much, and he got scared, to push, and push hard. 

Of course, Blair had forgiven him. Jumped straight on a plane, fresh out of the damned hospital, and come after Jim as he'd attempted to track down that bitch Alex Barnes, the one who'd almost taken Blair from him permanently. And there, on a beach in South America, Jim had betrayed Blair again. Not as a man betrays his lover, no. But, infinitely worse in Jim's eyes, he'd betrayed his best friend; the one person who _got_ Jim, who saw past pretend-Jim to the impatient, grumpy man inside, and still chose to stick around. 

Blair may have been able to forgive Jim, to put it all aside for the sake of their friendship, but Jim wasn't so sure he could forgive himself. He wasn't so certain he deserved it, although if Sandburg thought so then it must be true. Jim had long since stopped being surprised at how he deferred to Blair. That much-vaunted need for control had slackened just enough to let Blair in, where he'd made himself good and comfortable, as if settling in for the winter. So, if Blair said he should stop beating himself up over it, then he would, or at least do a damned fine job of pretending. And Jim could fake it with the best of them. Hell, he'd been pretending for months, years even. Pretending to Blair, to everyone, including himself. To say Jim was a detective -- and a damned good one at that, as his closure rate would attest -- it was all too easy for Jim to fool himself into thinking the sky really _wasn't_ up sometimes. 

Turning onto his side, Jim kicked the blankets down to the bottom of the bed. For the past two weeks they'd been having unseasonably warm weather -- although, warm was _always_ out of season in Cascade -- and it didn't look like it would be letting up any time soon. Below him, Jim could hear the unmistakable sounds of frustrated breathing, and the rustle of bed clothes, as Blair tossed and turned in his own too-hot bed. For once, Mister Layers wasn't moaning about the cold. 

He thought back to the Sandburg he'd met almost four years ago; high-strung, flighty, outlandishly dressed, and able to talk the hind leg off - well, off _anything_ , really. Now, in his place, there was this calmer, more subdued, *settled *Sandburg. His guppy was all grown up. It was damned disorienting; a not uncommon feeling when around a Sandburg of either gender. 

Yes, Blair was older -- shit, who wasn't? At least _his_ hair wasn't abandoning ship like it was the last lifeboat off the Titanic -- and yes, he _was_ wiser. But "calm" was just not a word usually associated with a member of the Sandburg family. It made him uneasy, and Jim hated feeling uneasy. It usually led to him pulling out his gun and yelling, "Freeze! Cascade PD." But he didn't think that would work on Sandburg. 

Over the past three years Jim had gotten used to the pushiness, the exuberance, the never-ending questions, hell, even the crazy diet. Sure, he'd snarked and complained at every turn but that was expected, that was his role in this partnership. And now Sandburg had gone and changed the rules. 

_Changed_ period. 

And Jim didn't like it. Not one bit. Blair was growing up -- some, less kind than Jim, would say "at last" -- and though it was good for his partner, Jim was afraid that Blair would grow beyond him. That Blair would move onwards and upwards, leaving Jim behind. Course, he could hardly start bitching about Blair growing up and not talking his ear off at every turn. Not to mention the fact that Simon and the others down at the precinct would laugh right in his face if he dared complain about Blair getting into less trouble, though, there was no way Sandburg would be able to keep out of trouble forever. The man was a walking disaster magnet. The day Blair didn't get into any kind of trouble at all was the day Jim ate tofu sprinkled with bean sprouts and raved over it. 

But this new Blair was all wrong. Old-Blair may have been intrusive, inquisitive and impetuous but Jim could deal with that. He _was_ dealing with it. But then this change came about... Blair may have joked about pod people but Jim was the one who'd been tempted to check under Blair's bed for pods. It wasn't that Jim _disliked_ the new Blair, he liked him just fine. It was the change he hated, this about-turn in behaviour that Blair was displaying. Jim's whole life was about routine, had been since his army days, and it just wasn't in him to accept such drastic changes. And new-Blair wasn't right. He wasn't Jim's _Chief_. 

Jim supposed dyi- having something like that happen changed a man. He knew the loss of his men back in Peru had changed him, and not necessarily for the better. He was aware that he still took a lot of things for granted, Blair included, but he liked to think he also appreciated a little more; even these crazy senses. They did come in handy more often than not. 

Even with this amazing gift -- as Blair had called it at some point near the beginning -- Jim had somehow missed the clue bus. His *own *damned clue bus. And he suspected that Simon had known, somehow, before Jim himself had realised it; Jim's talent for repression was matched only by his ability to hear a pin drop a block away. He'd gotten heartily sick of the smug, knowing looks Simon sometimes shot the two of them at poker games, or during a quiet moment in the bullpen after they'd closed yet another case. They made a good team, him and Blair. Ellison and Sandburg. A damned fine team, both at work and at home, but was it wrong that Jim sometimes wished for more? He couldn't put a finger on what exactly *"more" *entailed. 

Jim was sure he'd had it all figured out at one point, but that was after an evening spent consuming an unhealthy amount of beer at some station party or other, perhaps it had been H's birthday, maybe Conner's? Most likely his brain would refuse to go there again if he tried to force the issue. That damned repression wasn't _always_ helpful. It never buried the trivial stuff, like where Sandburg had left his latest tribal CD, or why Sergeant Carter always smelled like wet cats. No, only the important things got sucked into the black hole of his subconscious. 

And it wasn't that Jim didn't have *any *idea what he might want from Blair, from this, as he suspected that he knew very well. He was just doing what he always did, hiding the knowledge from himself until such time as he could handle it easily; namely, never. Jim was used to doing without. He'd been doing without for so long that it had become a way of life. Pushing it down, moving past, forgetting. And it was becoming painfully obvious, even to the King of Repression, that this hiding from himself and repeating the same mistakes wasn't likely to get him what he wanted, any more than it ever had. It was certainly no way to live, and he'd had enough. 

If he couldn't figure things out for himself, then maybe it was time to ask? Blair would know. He always did. Out of everyone, Blair was the most likely to understand what this "more" thing was that Jim so wanted. Blair knew Jim better than anyone else and he had this way of thinking about things that often staggered Jim with its complexity. But did he dare ask and take that chance? Could he handle what the answer might be? Jim had a sneaking suspicion that the answer to *that *question was a resounding "No." But could he afford _not_ ask? 

The noises from downstairs had long since ceased and Jim smiled a little as he imagined Blair sleeping, drooling on his pillow, his long hair spread out around him. Jim had experienced that very thing, up close and personal, on numerous camping trips. A few times he'd woken up early just to watch Blair as he slept. The younger man had looked so at peace, almost beautiful, if a man could be such a thing. It was something that should have set off alarm bells right away but Jim, being Jim, had once again fooled himself into thinking it was nothing more than a chance to gather future teasing material. 

Jim was often amazed at how things always seemed so much clearer in the quiet times that could only be found in the middle of the night. It was the complete opposite of that old adage about the cold light of day, although Cascade could do cold like nobody's business. But with the help of the white noise generator blocking out the worst of the sounds of a living, breathing city Jim could think without distraction. Well, unless another serial killer, or rogue mutant-alien-cowboy came barrelling through the front door. _Thankfully_ the mutant-alien-cowboy had yet to happen, and Jim could do without _that_ for a good while yet. 

The serial killer, however, was yet another instance of Blair's life being put on the line when he should have been safe at home, happily tapping away at his laptop about some long-dead civilisation whose only claim to fame was that they were all spectacularly killed in a freak bean sprout and tofu famine. Jim paused to picture that for a moment, then shook his head ruefully. He shouldn't make fun of Blair, at least not where Jim couldn't see that chest-puffing thing Blair did when he was getting ready to needle Jim right back. 

Jim could remember times his heart would trip when Blair looked at him in that special way he had; eyes wide and shining, grinning up at Jim like he was the answer to all the questions in the universe. It wasn't the same as the hero worship thing Blair'd had going on those first months, although there was sometimes the faintest hint of it still there, hidden under the rest. Jim was sure it was more than that. Even if he couldn't be certain of much else, like what exactly _it_ was. He could hope, he could imagine, but the only way to really _know_ would be to confront Blair. Sit him down and ask the question that had been on the tip of Jim's tongue so many, many times, only to be snatched back before it could be uttered, hidden away again where even Jim couldn't find it. He wanted more -- that much was clear -- and, though he couldn't picture everything that "more" would entail, Jim was both terrified and exhilarated by the possibility. But was what he wanted so badly even possible? Only one person really knew the answer. 

Jim was a proud man, always had been. And sometimes -- okay, _usually_ \-- he was too proud to ask for what he wanted, what he needed. Over the years he'd managed to convince himself that he was doing okay on his own, that he didn't need anyone to complete him. And while that still held true -- he didn't _need_ completing -- it would still be nice to have someone to come home to. Someone to hold during the night, to wake up next to in the morning. Someone who needed him just a little but _wanted_ him more than anything. Jim didn't think that was completely beyond reason and he sure didn't want to continue on this road of self-denial, smothering his feelings and desires, pushing things down and away. He'd tried it that way for years and as a result he'd almost lost the best thing that had ever happened to him; that being Blair. 

That thought had Jim up and off the bed. He couldn't stand this sense of waiting and wondering. Now was the right time, the _only_ time to do it. Here, in the dark, he could face it, face Blair, face himself and his feelings. Padding across the room, he paused at top of stairs, listening intently, and was greeted by the slow, even sound of Blair's breathing. 

The other man meant so much to Jim that any other time, with anyone else, he'd be petrified, he'd be running far and fast, but this was Blair. And Blair would never hurt Jim. He may let Jim down gently with a polite "thanks, but no thanks," but at least Blair wouldn't make a joke of it, to be trotted out at parties in a game of "guess what that idiot Jim did." 

Well, he couldn't stand here all night. Actually, he could. But, after a moment or two of indecision, he forced himself to take that fateful first step. Making his way slowly down the stairs, avoiding the one that had recently developed a slight creak, he tried to get his brain in gear. There was no way Jim wanted to walk into Blair's room blind, so to speak. However, all the circular thinking he'd been doing was making it difficult for Jim figure out what he was going to say to Blair, to plan a speech of sorts. It couldn't be too rehearsed, since, chances were, he'd be interrupted fairly early on. Blair never could keep quiet for long, unless he was asleep. Jim had actually been surprised that Blair never talked in his sleep, maybe that's why he talked so much, to make up for those eight hours of every day he was forced to stay silent. Or maybe it was proof that there really was a God, and He looked kindly on poor Sentinel's who needed their beauty sleep. 

As he neared the dining table Jim stopped to take a deep, calming breath. And then another. And another. He hoped he wasn't going to hyperventilate right here in the middle of the loft, because that would be just great, the final humiliation. Jim'd had enough of freaking out in front of his partner. Steeling himself, he decided: kitchen first. Blair straight after. In the kitchen he grabbed himself a glass of water. That, at least, would give him something to do with his hands, past experience telling him he'd definitely need it. Also, if things turned to shit, Jim could always spill it and escape while Blair was distracted by the unexpected drenching. It was dirty pool, but he'd take what he could get, where he could get it. 

Jim could see exactly how this would play out. He'd blunder his way in there, say something incredibly stupid, Blair would smile in that gentle way of his and pat his arm as he told Jim that he _just didn't see him that way_. Blair was so important to Jim's well-being, and not just in a Sentinel/Guide way, and Jim couldn't afford to screw this up. It was a one shot deal. And if he failed, it was "do not pass Go, do not collect two-hundred dollars." Blair may not have been everything to Jim -- Jim didn't believe there was such a thing out there for the Ellisons of this world -- but Blair did have the power to bring life as Jim knew it crashing down. No matter. Jim had made up his mind. He would do this, get it over with. The not knowing was worse than any other scenarios Jim's mind could manufacture. And he refused to believe Blair would punish him for his honesty. Blair would understand how hard this was for Jim. He would. 

Draining the glass, Jim refilled it and made his way over to Blair's room. Standing there in front of the French doors, Jim's stomach flip-flopped, and he felt apprehensive for the first time at the thought of facing his friend. It wasn't that big a deal, was it? Just two friends talking in the middle of the night. Right. Sure. Uh huh. But if Jim could convince himself of that he'd be able to calm the fuck down. His nerve was failing fast, and before he could completely lose it, he pushed the doors open. He took a moment to be thankful he'd oiled the hinges last week so they made no noise, just in case he chickened out, or ran screaming. That kind of extreme reaction was one which Jim had come to expect from himself but he ruthlessly stamped down the beginnings of panic. 

Lifting his gaze, he admired the sight of Blair lying half on his side, arms outflung, his hair a mess around his head, a few strands clinging to his full bottom lip. It was the wrong word but Jim thought Blair looked beautiful. Well, as much as any man can look beautiful. "Handsome" just didn't encompass what Blair was, how he made Jim feel, so warm inside, spreading up and out from the centre of his chest. It was either a bad case of heartburn, or Jim was in love. He had a sneaking suspicion it was the latter. So, maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe Blair could be Jim's everything? Stranger things had happened, especially to Jim. Not everyone had heightened senses with the added perk of built in spirit guide. So if strangeness was required then that had to be a point in Jim's favour. 

That only Jim could see Blair this way, in the dead of night by the faintest light of the moon, was a selfish pleasure for him. To see the lines of his torso, the smattering of chest hair beneath the tank top, the curve of a cheekbone. Jim took it all in like a starving man. How could he not have realised? Was he that blind? No. He _had_ seen it, known it, he'd just refused to acknowledge it, hoping it would go away. But, as so often happened when a person bottled things up, it had only gotten stronger, until it could no longer be held inside. Jim needed to tell Blair. Needed to tell him now. 

Moving over to the bed, he stopped within touching distance but he didn't reach out, didn't dare. Blair slept on, totally unaware Jim was anywhere but where he should be; in other words, upstairs. He couldn't see how tightly Jim was holding his glass of water to counteract the shaking, couldn't hear how Jim's heart had picked up it's rhythm, almost tripping over itself before settling, only to do it all over again. Instead, a hint of a smile quirked the lips Jim had so admired, and Jim wondered what Blair was dreaming. He supposed he could ask Blair in the morning, but by then the dream would be gone. Jim was just glad it seemed to be a good one. There'd been enough nightmares in the loft to last a lifetime, or three. 

'Blair,' he whispered, unable to speak louder. Somehow it seemed sacrilegious to disturb the silence with anything more. 'Blair.' 

Blair's didn't respond, didn't wake and smile at Jim. He did, however, roll fully onto his back and rub his cheek into the pillow beneath it. 

Hmmm. This obviously called for something more drastic. Jim eyed the full glass of water in his hand... Nah. That idea wasn't going to be leading to any decent heart-to-heart discussions, the very thing Jim had come all this way for, emotionally, if not physically. He highly doubted Blair would be interested in *anything *Jim had to say if he was woken by a face full of cold water in the wee hours of the morning. Jim grinned as he imagined Blair's sputtering explosion that would be the direct result. Nope. Not a good idea. He decided to try a quick shoulder shake; if that didn't work, the water could be Plan B. 

Shake. Shake. 'Come on, Sandburg.' Shake. Shake. 'Wake the hel- Wake up.' 

Blair snuffled and groaned but those big blue eyes stayed resolutely shut. 

Shake. Shake. Shake. 'I need to talk to you.' 

'G'way, 'im, sleepin,' Blair mumbled and rolled again, this time to face the wall, turning his back on Jim. 

There was no way Jim was going to go through all he had tonight -- he'd examined his feelings, without prompting, for crying out loud -- and have Blair sleep through it. Jim could just imagine what those dreams were about, busty waitresses or long-legged business women in various states of "come get me Blair." Well, there was no way in hell Jim was going to stand for that! 

'Damn it, Blair.' Shake. Shake. Shake. 'Wake the fuck up, I said.' Shake. Poke. Shove. 

Thud. Ruh roh. 

Blair's hand went straight to his forehead to rub the rapidly forming lump where it had rebounded off the hard wooden panelling. 'What the fuck?' 

'Uh...' 

Blair twisted to look up at Jim, his eyes flashing dangerously in the dim light. 'You'd better have damned good explanation for waking me up in the middle of the night just to beat my head against the wall.' 

This was so not good. Really not good. Blair sounded pissed. Understandable perhaps, but Jim had no provisions in his plans for a pissed off Sandburg. If the little shit had only woken up the fourth or fifth time Jim'd shaken him, this never would have happened. Jim's earlier prediction of fucking this up was apparently correct -- give the man a cigar -- if a little _tamer_ , less catastrophic, *than what was taking place. This reality was so much worse than anything Jim could have imagined. 

Shit. 

'What are you doing here, man?' Blair asked, sleep and annoyance roughening his voice. 'Don't you have an early meeting tomorrow with Simon?' 

Jim was struggling to figure out a way to rectify the situation before he lost his mind, lost his cool, lost this chance. 'Yeah, I just-' 

'You just thought you'd come down here,' Blair said, when it became obvious Jim wasn't going to finish the thought, 'interrupt what was turning out to be a really great dream, and try to brain me?' 

Jim shook his head but Blair wasn't looking at him anymore, he was checking for blood. Jim sighed and resigned himself to the fact that he'd lost control of the situation. It wasn't so bad that he regretted coming down here but the head meeting wood part was definitely worth a do-over. 

'If you can't sleep, Jim, why not try reading a book,' Blair continued. 'Or counting sheep, or panthers, or whatthefuck, instead of concussing me in an attempt to wake me up?' 

'I could have tried one of your books,' Jim replied, only half-joking. 'They're guaranteed to put me to sleep.' 

Blair smiled a little at that. 'Yeah.' 

'Besides, you're not concussed.' Jim was certain of that, if not much else. 'You didn't hit your head that hard.' 

'How would you know? You shoved me pretty damned hard, man.' 

'I know... I'm sorry.' Jim made the effort to look as contrite as possible. Something Blair evidently appreciated, as he arched an eyebrow back at Jim. 'I just needed you to wake up, and the shaking didn't seem to be working.' 

Blair noticed the glass of water. 'So, what was the next step, if knocking me around didn't work? Drowning?' 

'Well...' Jim paused for effect, sloshing the water so it swirled in the glass, and watched as Blair's eyes narrowed. 'No. Although, I was keeping it in reserve as a last resort.' 

'I'm sure you were.' 

Jim had the feeling he'd been forgiven, even though Blair was still rubbing at his head. It looked like it'd bruise nicely, if bruises could be said to be "nice." Jim wouldn't be able to look at it without feeling guilty, though. And Blair was sure to milk it for all he was worth. "Can you run down to the deli on Main, and get me a sandwich, my head hurts," and "Can you cook tonight, my head's really aching." Jim wouldn't hear the end of it, long past when the bruise disappeared. 

'So, Jim,' Blair's usual bounce was beginning to kick back in, although slightly subdued by the interruption of his sleep. 'What brought you down here on this fine evening?' 

'Uh... well,' Jim stammered. He needed to retreat and regroup. 'How 'bout I get you some ice to put on your war wound first and then we'll talk?' 

'Sounds like a plan,' Blair started, by which time Jim had already made his escape, wincing as Blair called after him, 'I'd hate to be in your shoes tomorrow when Simon finds out where I got this lump on my head the size of Mount Rainier.' 

Yeah. So would Jim. Maybe he could call in sick? 

He took his time with it but the small bedroom was still in darkness when Jim returned, Blair having other things on his mind. Jim offered him the ball of ice he'd wrapped in a small towel, and Blair took it gratefully, pulling himself up to rest on his pillows. There was a long period of silence while Blair tended to his wound, and Jim stood watch, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, unable to keep still. Finally, Jim broke. He couldn't stand the quiet, had to fill it with something. 'So, Sandburg... what was this "really great dream" all about?' 

'Oh, you know...' 

Well, _that_ conversation had been a non-starter. But, Blair was wrong. Jim really _didn't_ know. That was the whole point of him asking, to find out. But he wouldn't press for details. After all, it was hardly likely to be about anything good as far as Jim was concerned. Buxom babes in nurses' uniforms made for good pornography but really wouldn't give Jim the confidence to go through with what he'd been _semi_ -planning. 

But this non-explanation was just another example of new-Blair. There was no way real-Blair would have left it at that, no way in hell. Not with the chance to describe something in excruciating detail. Real-Blair would have bombarded Jim with more information and cultural inferences than he could shake a stick at. Real-Blair could be frustrating at times -- _most_ times would be closer to the truth -- but at least Jim was always kept informed, in one way or another. New-Blair he couldn't figure out. For instance, would it be better to tell new-Blair now, while he was distracted, or wait until he had Blair's undivided attention? The part of Jim that was so close to running, screaming, back to the safety of his room preferred to wait it out until such time as never. But Jim'd come down here for a reason and, damn it, he was going to get this out, even if it killed him. 

But Blair beat him out of the starting gate. 'I take it you wanted to talk to me about something.' 

'Yeah,' Jim said slowly, sounding far less certain about it than he was feeling - which was saying a lot. A real lot. 

'Yeah?' Blair queried softly, his tone gentle. 'You gonna elaborate on that at some point, or are we gonna play "Twenty Questions" all night?' 

'No. I mean- Shit.' Jim tried to force his tongue to obey, while _it_ was playing hard to get, plastering itself to the roof of his mouth. 

Why couldn't this, of all things, have gone right for Jim. He'd done all the dirty work -- _thinking_ , for God's sake -- and now that he was actually, for once, taking the initiative and doing something about it, things were rapidly turning to shit on a shingle. 

Placing the ice on the table beside his bed, Blair reached to switch on his lamp, but Jim's hand on his wrist stayed the movement. 

'No light,' he whispered hoarsely. The darkness gave him a bit more courage. 

'But I want to see you.' 

Jim held on for long moments before relenting and moving back. 

'Blair, I-' Damn it. He was clamming up. This just plain wasn't working. The more he tried, the more of an idiot he made of himself. At this rate Jim would never get the words out. He couldn't look at his partner, he was too scared he'd see pity in Blair's eyes; pity for Jim's emotional fuckuppedness. So he was startled by the hand that stroked gentle heat across his cheek. 

'It's going to be okay, Jim,' Blair leaned closer, whispering softly, too soft for a person of normal hearing to catch. 'You're going to be just fine.' 

'I just- I want-' Shit. Shit. Shit. The words were right _there_. 

'I _know_ , Jim. Shhh. I know.' 

Blair knew? Blair _knew_! Oh, thank God! 

'You've been struggling with it for a while.' Blair said. It wasn't a question but Jim nodded anyway, his eyes downcast, still unable to look at Blair. He watched his toes scrunching in the striped gray rug covering the centre of floor. Jim knew he was shaking with the effort it took not to bolt from the room. Blair couldn't help but see it, and he'd said he _knew_. Jim couldn't get over that. Why hadn't he said anything before now? Was he waiting for Jim? Blair must have been prepared for a long wait, he knew Jim too well. 

'I've seen you,' Blair went on. 'I wanted to ease it so badly, to take away the guilt over my- well, my death,' Blair barely breathed the final word, grimacing as Jim pulled a face. 'And this change we've got going on in the dynamics of our relationship. I knew you were feeling it, too, but I didn't want to push you into something you weren't ready for. You know how you shut down when pushed.' 

Finally Jim's tongue decided to cooperate. 'But you've been pushing the whole time we've known each other.' 

'That's true, Jim, but I just couldn't this time.' At Jim's quizzical expression, Blair explained, 'I had no idea how you'd react to this. You needed to come at it in your own time, if I'd forced you in any way you would have closed down, closed off. I couldn't risk it with something this big. More than anything, I wanted you to be safe and happy. Even if it meant you weren't _with_ me the way that I wanted. And I've been wanting this so badly I could taste it.' 

Blair may have been the man with all the words -- usually of more than three syllables -- but Jim preferred action, so he reached out and tugged Blair into a fierce hug. Rubbing his cheek against Blair's soft curls, he muttered to himself, 'This is more.' 

'This is better than more, Jim,' Blair replied on a deeply contented sigh, wrapping himself securely around Jim's sturdy frame. 'This is _us_.' 

"Us?" Jim liked the sound of that. Sliding his fingers into Blair's hair, careful not to catch on any sleep-created tangles, Jim luxuriated in the softness. Tugging gently, he tilted Blair's head back, just so, and finally -- _finally_ \-- met his gaze. 

'Beautiful,' he whispered, and watched Blair's eyes widen in surprised pleasure. 'Beautiful.' 

Blair attempted to shake his head in denial, but Jim held fast and repeated a litany of the word, each accompanied by a rasping rub of his thumb across Blair's cheek. 

'Jim, I-' It was Blair's turn to falter, and he licked at suddenly dry lips. 'I need- Please- I-' 

Jim felt his face heat, as he homed in on those whisper-quick glimpses of moist, pink tongue. He could now understand the Sandburg obsession, as he desperately wanted to taste. Leaning in closer, Jim brought their lips within touching distance. 

'It's okay, Blair,' he said, feeling inordinately pleased to be the one to be doing the soothing this time. 'It's going to be okay. Is this what you want?' 

The exultant 'yes' came out on a thready moan. 

Jim's eyes flashed hot and bright as he closed the gap between them. Their lips met in a conflagration of wet heat, causing Jim to groan into Blair's mouth. Moist skin touched and clung, tongues met and melded, breath was shared, and breathy moans triggered responding shivers. 

Taking care not to lose contact with Blair's lips, Jim slipped onto the bed, twisting so he was half-lying, half-kneeling over Blair. Long moments passed where all Jim knew was Blair's lips, Blair's warmth, _Blair_. He couldn't believe he was here, that this was really happening. But if it _was_ a dream, Jim wasn't going to waste his time thinking when he could be- 

Blair tore his mouth away and swore, as Jim's hands went exploring. 'Oh, God!' 

'Actually,' Jim grinned, panting a little as he fought to catch his breath, 'how 'bout you just call me Jim?' 

Blair gaped, then choked on a laugh, and smacked Jim, not very lightly, on the rump. 'Asshole,' he scolded, infusing the word with warmth, turning it into an endearment of sorts. 

'Hey!' Jim said, faking a little indignation for the benefit of his audience of one. He twisted to see where Blair's hand still rested on the curve of his ass. 'Why didn't you tell me you were into kink?' 

Blair laughed, more loudly than the joke warranted but the nervous tension between the two men evaporated. 'Oh, you... shut _up_!' 

Jim chuckled quietly, shaking the bed a little under them. Who knew love could be like this? It wasn't scary. Pfft. It was life, and laughter... and Blair. Blair. Jim said it over, and over again, in his mind: Blair. But still, he hadn't said _it_. Neither of them had. They'd only mentioned wanting and need. Jim couldn't let Blair go on thinking that was all it was, couldn't let him think he wasn't... _loved_. Not loved beyond reason, no, but loved beyond a shadow of a doubt. Loved in an all-encompassing, can't hold it in any longer, kind of way. 

So Jim tried, 'I think I- damn it.' Damn it. Well, that didn't work. Try again, Jim, try again. 'I mean, I _know_ -' Alright. One more go. This was simple. Just words. Short words. One syllable each. Come on Jim. You can do this, you great putz. 'I'm in love with you, Blair.' There. Thank God. He'd done it. 

And Blair's face-splitting smile made it all worthwhile. As did the quick kisses Blair rained across Jim's face, leaving behind delicious damp circles that caused shivers to run up and down Jim's spine as they dried. 'Oh, man... I've been in love with you for ages. Just... _ages_! So glad you finally caught up.' 

That little son of a- 

Jim couldn't allow teasing like that to go unpunished. Schooling his features into a mock glare, he cuffed Blair none-too-gently on the head. 

'It's not a competition, short eyes,' he said, letting his hands pet their way down Blair's sides to rest on his hips. Jim waited for the smile he knew was coming. When it did, he rewarded Blair with a slow grind of his hips. 'But it will be.' 

* * *

End Whenever I Think About You by a_gal: aotearoa_gal@hotmail.com

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Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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